


Rearing Sons of Durin

by kazzaroo



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bath Time, Blanket Forts, Brotherly Love, Dragon Sickness Metaphors, Durin Feels, Family, First Words, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food Fight, Foreshadowing, Gen, Growing Up, Guest Appearance by Dis, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Majesty Goals, Misty Mountains Song, Mutual Nursemaids, Protective Fíli, Sickfic, Thorin Has Heartstrings, Thorin Resents Elves, Thorin's Gaze Contains Worlds, Thorin's Ponytail Tho, Those Darn Elves, Uncle Thorin, Which His Nephews Strum Like A Banjo, playing dress up, sick day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzaroo/pseuds/kazzaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots about our favorite family during the years when Fíli and Kíli are growing up and Thorin becomes so much more than an uncle to them.</p><p>Tags will be updated with subsequent chapters.</p><p> <br/><strong>On hiatus.<strong></strong></strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. True Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Fíli tries to comfort his baby brother, but ends up needing comforting himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy International Fanworks Day, everyone! Feels like the perfect occasion to kick off a series, and I've got way more Durin family feels than I know what to do with, so HERE, TAKE THEM.

Through the fast-dissipating haze of sleep, the distressed sounds of a crying infant assaulted Thorin's ears. Wailing. _Insistent_ wailing. That made this the third night in a row that he had been prodded awake by his youngest nephew. How Kíli had yet to bellow himself hoarse was beyond him.

 _Mahal, what a pair of lungs_ , Thorin muttered wearily into his pillow. How much more weary then must Dís be, who for the past nights had paced the floor with her son—rocking him, humming bits of verse and trying to soothe him as best she could, all to no avail. Kíli would not be soothed, and his mother was well-deserving of a break.

Mobilized by this conviction, Thorin reluctantly rolled himself out of bed, relinquishing the warmth of the covers in exchange for the cold stone floor, and padded down the hall in his bare feet to the small side room that had been designated as a nursery. It had been _he_ who had insisted on its close proximity to the bedrooms, wanting Dís to have ease of access. Now as he approached the source of the incessant caterwauling, he contemplated the irony of that decision, and also questioned his sanity when making it. What had he been thinking?

"The lad's persistent; I'll give him that."

Glancing up at the deep voice, his sister smiled blearily, though fondly at Thorin's bed-rumpled figure.

"That he is. And Fíli has been nearly as inconsolable tonight. He woke up when his brother did and started crying when Kíli would not stop," she sighed.

"Where is Fíli now?"

"I sent him back to my room to try to sleep, though I doubt he'll have had any success. Like the rest of us. But I'll get this little one down yet." She touched a featherlight fingertip to Kíli's button-nose, extracting a fresh shriek.

"You need to sleep too," he protested gently. "I can take him. Let me."

She dipped her chin in gratitude, but shook her head. "I do not deserve such a brother. But go back to bed, Thorin. Kíli will give up soon enough."

"Though clearly not without a fight," Thorin observed wryly. "Are you sure?"

But she would not relent, and eventually with her repeated assurances he dropped a tired kiss onto her head and left back down the hall to scrounge what guilty slumber he could.

As he passed Dís's room, he paused at the threshold, listening. The barely suppressed whimpers issuing from within tugged at his heartstrings, and Thorin pushed open the door to find Fíli huddled in the center of the bed, the usually clear blue eyes pebbled with tears, making them appear two or three times as large as they should be—or at least larger than was fair.

He held out his arms. "Come here, Fíli." With a gentle heave he settled the young dwarrow on his lap, and rested his own back against the simple headboard.

Fíli instinctively nestled against his chest, fighting back the tears. "Kíli won't stop, Uncle Thorin," he snuffled. "He cries an' cries, an' he won't stop. He doesn't listen t' me."

"I know you would have your brother stop crying if you could."

Fíli nodded against him. "He's sad." An enormous tear slipped down the rounded cheek. "I wanna make him not be sad. But I can't."

"Though certainly not for lack of will," Thorin gazed down on him affectionately. Even at such a tender age, Fíli was already remarkably protective of his younger sibling. Always trying to take care of him, though he was but a beardling himself.

"But you must remember that Kíli is only a baby. He has not yet learnt enough to feel the pain of sadness. In fact, your mother tells me he is crying for another reason altogether," Thorin said.

"Why."

"He's cutting his first teeth."

Abruptly a look of surprise temporarily stemmed the flow of tears. "Kíli'll have teeth?"

"With any luck," Thorin replied amusedly.

"Like me?"

"Quite."

"Oh..." Fíli considered this, snuffling quietly. "I thought...I thought he would just be teethless because that's the way he was borned."

Thorin's attempts to stifle his sudden chuckle failed, but he did what he could to mask it with a series of low coughs.

Thankfully Fíli took no notice. Instead he sat silently, the expression in his red-rimmed eyes turning very serious indeed.

"But Kíli is _not_ like me," he said quietly, as if in confidence.

"Oh? And why is that."

"Kíli doesn't know things. He doesn't know about teeth, even," already forgetting that he had shared in that ignorance mere seconds before. "He doesn't know about bein' sad. He doesn't know...other things."

"That is true," Thorin humored him. "Kíli doesn't know a great many things."

"He doesn't know about Dâd. He doesn't know he isn't comin' home." Fíli's breath hitched in his throat with the admission, and Thorin's heart dropped like an anvil at the unanticipated words.

"But I want him to," Fíli added, almost to himself, his voice now hardly above a whisper. "Come home, I mean."

Thorin barely trusted his own voice. "Just so, _âzyungûn_ ," he managed. "Just so."

Desperately he searched for something to console the fatherless boy in his arms, something to ease his grief, but everything that came to mind fell far short of the kind of comfort he wished to give. Fíli didn't need empty promises or threadbare phrases that held no warmth. The only true comfort would be the return of the father he had lost. And no one could give him that.

Thorin's rough fingers buried themselves in Fíli's hair and began to gently massage the nape of his tiny neck until the lad slowly relaxed against him.

"You are strong, Fíli," he finally murmured. "I can see it. You are strong for your mother, and your brother. That strength will see you through, until this sadness lessens."

Mimicking Thorin's actions, Fíli's little fingers wriggled themselves into his uncle's beard and began absently stroking the coarse hair as a self-calming mechanism, the other hand tangled in his own golden curls, twisting one side into a single ringlet as drowsiness began to overtake him.

As Fíli's body grew heavier, Thorin leaned down, offering a last hope against the drooping head.

"Perhaps, one day, it may even pass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They won't all be this angsty, not by a long shot, I swear. But hey hey, bitter backstory makes later fluff all the sweeter.
> 
> âzyungûn = 'loved one' or 'dear one'


	2. Wearing Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Kíli has other plans for his meal.

"Open wide, Kíli."

"Like me, Kíli! Like  _this._ "

Thorin held out the spoonful of porridge while Fíli demonstrated the proper method for eating one's food, stretching his jaws apart excessively until Thorin could nearly see the back of his oldest nephew's throat.

"Do like me! Pretend yer mouth is a great big mine and Uncle Thorin's gonna march a porridge army into it."

"Doesn't that sound appetizing," Thorin added a bit stiffly.

"Just _one_ bite. ...Come on, Kee. Like this, 'ahhhhh—'"

"Fíli, close your mouth, son. You're drooling on your mother's tablecloth."

"Huh? Oh." He swiped a sleeve across his chin. "Sorry, Uncle."

Meanwhile Kíli squirmed in his chair, shying away from the proffered spoon as if it was actually delivering up an army to his doorstep. He shook his wild curls and clamped his plump little lips tightly shut against the threat of invasion.

Thorin loosed a frustrated sigh. When Kíli set his mind to something, the chances of changing it were slim-to-none. Yet the lad had to eat and thus far hadn't taken a single bite, so Thorin gathered what little of his patience remained and tried again.

"I can do this all morning, Kíli." _Hardly._  "It's good, hearty porridge. Now come on."

But Kíli's dark walnut eyes began to moisten and he shook his head emphatically, whining and reaching for his brother.

"It seems he wants you to feed him," handing over the cooling spoonful of gruel to Fíli perhaps a bit too willingly.

"Alright! I can get him t' eat."

"That's the spirit," Thorin muttered, taking a comisserating swig from his tankard.

As Fíli offered the spoon to him, waiting hopefully for him to open his mouth, Kíli surprised them by reaching for the handle.

"You wanna feed yourself, Kee? S'that it?"

Kíli just whined and reached again, until Fíli relented and let him take it.

"Eat up, then," Thorin said, eyeing him suspiciously.

For a charged moment, Kíli reassessed the situation, seeming somewhat in awe of the fact that he was being allowed to hold the shining utensil that had heretofore only been wielded by his elders. His wide gaze traveled from the spoon, to Fíli, to Thorin—lingering briefly on his uncle's unease—and back again.

Kíli hesitated. Then before they could positively idenity the fleeting glint in his eyes as one of mischief, it was too late to prevent what followed. He awkwardly swung his stubby arm like a catapult and sent the sticky missile splattering into Fíli's unsuspecting face.

"Aaaggghhh!" Fíli squawked, clawing at the enemy clumps. As soon as he was physically capable of glaring at Kíli's impish grin, he promptly scooped some of the dripping porridge on his fingertips and flicked it back at his little brother. The shot landed on the front of his tunic and flecked lightly on his chin. Kíli's answering expression was one of pure shock—the possibility that Fíli would retaliate in kind hadn't once entered his mind.

During this exchange Thorin had quickly risen to intervene, though too hastily—his elbow collided with the tankard, tipping it over the edge of the table and into his lap. He muttered a curse under his breath as the deep amber liquid seeped into his clothing and the creamy threads of Dís's tablecoth more effectively than a toddler's saliva ever could.

Thorin allowed his eyelids to flutter shut for a mere moment, willing the turn of events to reverse.

A tepid _splat!_ to the side of his face was what startled them open again.

He was met with Kíli's electric stare, tiny fists still half-raised, his face messy and etched with amazement that it was  _he_ who had managed to create such a wonderful predicament. A delighted gurgle escaped him, displaying several pearly-white teeth.

The little devil was proud of himself, and no mistake.

Fíli however had the good sense to be slightly more wary of Thorin's pending reaction. "...Uncle?" He ventured nervously.

Thorin remained unblinking, merely cocking an eyebrow in response.

"You...you got a little somethin'..." Fíli gestured to Thorin's beard, decorated with Kíli's rejected meal.  

"That's it," Thorin pushed back from the table. "Breakfast is done with. It's the bath for both of you."

Fíli visibly relaxed. Pleased at the easy consequence, he even dared to throw in a half-hearted complaint, if only to maintain dignity in the face of a bath before midday.

"Uncle _Thorin_..."

"I'll hear no objections, Fíli," he said firmly. "Get to the washroom."

Thorin hefted Kíli from his little chair without ceremony as the child twisted and turned in his arms, trying to escape what repugnant fate awaited him in the bath.

That said, he knew well enough what would happen. Kíli would behave as he normally did, clawing at the sides of the tub for dear life in order to avoid breaching the surface, while his older brother would climb in more or less without a fuss, although insuring to appear appropriately wounded. But before long he'd be attempting to lure them out of the tub's cooling depths, and they'd be begging for five more minutes and asking him to heat another pitcher-full so they could finish enacting a miniature water battle or something of the like.

_They act as if they'd never had a washing before, every time._

Right now they looked the part. And as for him, he was smeared with porridge and smelled like a drunk. He shook his head at himself and the antics of his unwieldy nephews. Fíli and Kíli: equally as presentable as piglets, and Thorin Oakenshield: reeking of a tavern and wearing breakfast as beard ornamentation.

Behold the line of Durin.


	3. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli speaks.

"UNCLE THORIN! UNCLE, COME QUICK!"

From the next room there came a rapid thundering of footfalls in response as Thorin barreled in, concern lining every feature.

"What's the matter? What it is; are you hurt?"

"It's not me, it's Kíli—"

"I knew it," Thorin groaned. "How bad is it?" His gaze richocheted around the room. "Where is he?"

Fíli gave up trying to explain and simply stepped aside, pointing down to where Kíli sat cross-legged on the rug. He gave his uncle a little wave, grinning contentedly.

"He isn't even crying," Thorin stated in relief.

Folding his arms across his chest in a patient manner, Fíli continued to wait for Thorin to catch up. "That's because he's _fine_."

"Then for Aulë's sake, what did you call me like that for?"

"T' show you this." Fíli turned back to Kíli and gave him a gentle nudge with the toe of his boot. "Do it again, Kee."

Kíli nodded, clambering to his feet and taking a breath as if he was about to give a recitation. "Fee," he said, pointing to his brother. "Fifi!"

Fíli beamed. "See? He _talked_. He said my name!"

 _"Fifi?"_ Thorin raised a brow in amusement, yet there was no mistaking the pride and fondness in his gaze.

"Close enough," Fíli insisted.

"Fifi!" Kíli crowed again, tottering over to his uncle so that he might be picked up for his accomplishments.

Thorin obliged, bending down to lift the toddler into his arms. "Your brother's name is the first word out of your mouth," grinning affectionately. "Why am I not surprised."

"Fifi," Kíli nodded in agreement.

"Well done, little one. Before you realize it, you'll have learned so many words, the rest of us will be hard-pressed to get you to _stop_ talking," he said as Kíli patted Thorin's broad shoulder and began tugging at his own tiny ear with sticky fingers.

"Eff!"

"That's right," Thorin looked surprised. "Fíli's name begins with an 'F'."

But Kíli ignored him, grasping the outer shell of Thorin's ear and pulling upward to create a pointed tip.

"Eff!"

Fíli's eyes grew round. "Um, Uncle Thorin...I think he's tryin' to say..."

But Thorin's deep frown was enough to inform Fíli that the older dwarf had caught on as well.

"Eff, eff, eff..." Kíli warbled to himself, holding Thorin's ear in place, while Thorin stared darkly straight ahead, bearing it all in disgruntled silence.

Fíli gave him a sheepish grin in apology. "Didn't think  _that'd_  be th' second."


	4. Convalescing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are sick and Thorin tries to help them feel better. Fíli and Kíli soon get a chance to return the favor.

For what seemed like the hundredth time within the hour, Kíli blew his nose noisily into a well-worn handkerchief for a significantly longer time than Fíli thought necessary.

"You sound like an olliphant," Fíli told him peevishly as he placed a hand to his aching head.

Kíli stuck his tongue out at him. "I don't sound like a ollafunt; _you_ sound like a ollafunt," was his automatic reply, though it lacked any real conviction. He knew Fíli wasn't really mad at him. Rolling dry, scratchy eyes at the weak comeback, Fíli merely turned over again, restlessly seeking out a cool spot on his pillow.

The past two days had seen the brothers trapped in bed with bad colds. At first they had been feverish and languid, and had slept a great deal, then yesterday they had begun sitting up and taking light meals—broths and fresh bread and whatever else their mother could think up to rekindle their usually insatiable appetites. For her boys not to be hungry was a thing unheard of, and she demanded that they eat so as to keep up their strength.

Dwarves' constitutions are so hardy that they are not often encumbered by sickness, and Fíli and Kíli were quite unused to feeling so tired and weak. Even so, they had borne it all admirably, with few complaints, if any—at least at first, when discontentment had required too much energy. But now, on the afternoon of their third day of being confined to bed, they were beginning to feel a bit better, though not yet well enough for their mother to release them. In truth, their condition had improved just enough for them to be well-and-truly bored.

"Hey, Fee?"

"I'm asleep," Fíli tried.

"I dropped m' bear when I sneezed," Kíli ignored him, poking him in the back repeatedly until Fíli responded by reaching over the side of the bed for the toy. A rush of blood to his head reddened his face and the edge of the mattress pressed into his stomach, expelling a low groan.

"Here." He handed Kíli the smooth wooden animal with a grunt, collapsing back onto his pillow, decidedly nauseous from the brief effort.

Obliviously, Kíli reclaimed it with a contented little hum for thanks, and returned to marching it solemnly across the bedspread, inventing a little walking-song under his breath as he went— _"I love honey. Honey is m' bear-gold. I eat honey cause...cause......I_ never _wanna catch a cold"_ —making it lumber up and down the quilted slopes of his bent knees.  

Once more Fíli turned over, this time to muffle his hoarse giggle. Kíli had hated being sick these past few days. Not that Fíli had liked it any better, but it had been hardest for Kíli, whose younger age and smaller size made his discomfort arguably greater and more pitiable. Even though it had been irritating with Kíli keeping him awake nights with his near-constant sniffling in his ear, Fíli had felt bad for his little brother, and his compassion had eventually outweighed his irritation. In any case, he could never stay cross with him for long—Kíli adored him far too much and was far too adorable in return.

 _Doesn't mean he always has t' get his way_ , Fíli thought as Kíli began poking him again.

"Play with me, Fee."

"......Play what."

Kíli scooted closer and peered over the back of Fíli's head to catch a glimpse of his face. "Get your knife and try t' slay me. But don't slay me," he was quick to add. "Because I'm gonna eat ya b'fore ya can."

"Don't feel like it," Fíli mumbled. He just wanted to rest.

"Come on, _please_. Please? ...Fíli?"

"M'sick, Kee."

"Me too," Kíli insisted companionably. "Let's _play_."

"I don't _wanna_."

"But—"

"Leave your brother be, Kíli." The rumbling baritone filled the small space with warmth, and Fíli pried open his eyes to the deep blue of Thorin's tunic descending upon the edge of the bed.

The mattress depressed as his uncle sat, then bounced erratically as Kíli clambered over him to reach Thorin's lap. 

"Fíli's bein' a toadstool," he pouted.

"He still doesn't feel well. Remember yesterday, when you didn't feel very well?"

Kíli scrunched his face up for a moment. "No," he said honestly.

Thorin smirked, giving one of Kíli's tangled locks a tug. "Well, _I_  remember." Copying him, Kíli grasped one of the two braids hanging free of his ponytail and pulled, perhaps a bit harder according to Thorin's wince.

"You wanna play with me?" Kíli hoped.

"Depends. What was it this game consisted of? Falling at the jaws of a bear?"

"Yep. You fight me till I eat ya."

Thorin nodded soberly. "Tempting. ...But I have no weapon. Am I to fight with my bare hands?"

"No, no; _I'm_  th' bear, not _you_ ," Kíli explained, paying no mind to Thorin's halting clarification as he swiveled to nudge Fíli's prone form with a woolen toe. "Fee, give Uncle Thorin yer knife!"

A muffled grunt was all the answer he received, but without raising his head, Fíli reached beneath his pillow and withdrew a small wooden dagger, beautifully carved from the same grain as Kíli's bear.

Thorin assessed the blunt blade with all seriousness. "It seems I'm ready to defend my life."

"'K, good. ...Wait!" Kíli hesitated. "I need t' blow my nose first."

From the depths of the bedcovers, Fíli groaned. _Not again._

Several battles later, after which Kíli would cause Thorin to come back to life each time—"cause you have magic powers"—Thorin declared his fight over and announced his permanent departure to the halls of his fathers, his tone decidedly war-weary.

It wasn't until Kíli flopped sideways on the bed in acceptance and began drowsily twisting his knotted hair around a finger, thumb in his mouth, that Fíli finally resurfaced.

He was met with Thorin's watchful gaze. Though his face was fairly expressionless, Fíli recognized the warmth emanating from those eyes. Thorin's eyes were a lighter blue than his tunic, though deeper than Fíli's own; a blue like a clear sky reflected in forged steel, a blue like cool water in the summer. Just looking into them made Fíli feel the tiniest bit better. The customary stern strength in his gaze was currently tempered with fondness and sympathy, and there was something in the laugh-lines at the edges that Fíli couldn't put a name to, though he had noticed it many times before. It was a look that made him want to fight battles and sleep at the same time, both without fear—a look that now spoke to him of tenderness and reprieve.

Wordlessly, he cast off his covers and crawled over to Thorin's side, resting his bright head in his uncle's lap with a sigh. His fingers curled around the hilt of the abandoned dagger and the corners of Thorin's mouth ticked up as he observed Fíli absently sheath it in his sock.

Passing a rough hand lightly over the small blond head of hair, tangled and a bit sweat-dampened, Thorin began removing the little beads binding the ends of Fíli's four bedraggled plaits.

"Let's tidy this mane, eh?" Thorin said.

Fíli just nodded, relaxing as the strong fingers carded gently through his curls, forming loose but neat braids, two on each side. He'd always loved having his hair braided—or merely having his head stroked, really, as Dís sometimes did in the evenings. It had been a source of basic comfort to him for as long as he could remember, and he leaned into Thorin's touch with a contented hum.

Thorin knew well enough that as Fíli grew older there would soon come a time when he would no longer regularly accept or ask for such attentions from his uncle, as a natural course. But for now, he could not deny that he treasured showing affection to Fíli in this simple way that never failed to settle the boy's spirit and serve as a source of respite to them both.

Once the braids were completed, Fíli turned and leaned his forehead against Thorin's, a sleepy smile in place. "Thanks, Uncle."

Thorin smoothed the pad of his thumb over Fíli's cheek. "Thank you," he smiled back.

"What about me?" Kíli piped up sleepily.

Pressing a finger to Kíli's midsection and pushing out a lazy giggle, he cocked an eyebrow at him. "What about you, bear?"

In answer, Kíli patted his mussed head.

"You'll just pull 'em out like you always do," Fíli said.

"They _fall_  out," Kíli said around his thumb.

"Yeah cause you shake 'em around."

Kíli nodded, accepting the truth of this, and shrugged. "I don't want 'em anyway."

"We want a story instead," Fíli said quickly, shooting Kíli a look that encouraged him to agree, which he hurriedly did.

"I suppose one story won't hurt. But just the one," Thorin added sternly. Both of the boys nodded rapidly in agreement, though he fully expected they would use everything in their power to extract at least two from him.

And so Thorin ended up in the middle with the boys mostly on top of him, as he spun a bedtime tale that had adventure and derring-do enough to satisfy, but that purposely meandered in such a way as to weight their weary eyelids and leave them snoring softly before he was half-way finished.

As he crept out of their room, he coaxed his heavy boots to tread more softly than usual, though he felt like plodding. All of him felt vaguely weary. Wearier than usual. What tale-telling he _had_  done had turned his throat sore and scratchy, and he was experiencing the makings of what he suspected would soon be a splitting headache. But no mattter. He'd pull his boots off, get a glass of something perhaps, and a get good night's sleep. That would surely put him to rights.

 

* * *

 

When the sunlight began to peek through the curtains the next morning, Kíli thought he had been dreaming of a bear. But then he couldn't remember the dream, so he thought he must have been mistaken, or that it was just memories from Uncle Thorin's story last night, leftover in his head. That is, until the rumbling growl reached his ears again. It roared and protested, sending Kíli hunkering down under the covers, reaching for his brother.

"Whaa...?" Fíli fumbled awake to Kíli's wide eyes and whispered, "Fee, listen, listen!"

The two of them stumbled to the cracked door, Fíli still half asleep, and inclined their ears in caution. Not that there was any need—the ruckus carried so beautifully from down the hall that they might have stayed in bed and heard every word.

 

 _"...most certainly_ am _capable. Now for the last time, Dís, stop fussing. I'm perfectly able to go to the forge!"_

_"Maybe if you want to fall over in a dead faint before you reach the doorstep. You're burning up with fever, Thorin; be reasonable."_

_"I'M ALWAYS REASONABLE."_

_"As reasonable as a fire-drake guarding his horde, perhaps."_

_"......That was a low blow. Do you expect to bully me into obedience, woman? Because it won't work."_

_"I_ expect _you to use the brains Mahal gave you and stay in bed."_

_"This is ridiculous."_

_"What's ridiculous is you thinking you can swing a hammer over glowing metal in this state without doing yourself in. Or someone else. I'm doing you a favor, brother."_

_"I don't need a nursemaid; I'm a grown dwarf."_

_"I'm well-aware. Now lie back down."_

 

A lengthy silence followed, at the end of which Fíli and Kíli only just caught a muttered:

 

_".........Fine. But only for a bit, and only so you'll stop hounding me."_

_"Of course."_

_"And only if you draw the curtains. The light is making my head pound."_

 

The boys were so wrapped up in eavesdropping that they didn't register their mother's footsteps approaching until the door to their room was already pushing open, effectively knocking them backwards onto their rear ends.

"Well," she raised a brow at them. "Good morning. Though I don't blame you for trying to find out what all the fuss was about."

 _"Dis!"_  They heard Thorin's muffled call. _"Could do with some tea, perhaps."_

Kíli peered up at his mother curiously. "Can Uncle not walk anymore, Ma?"

_"And that volume Balin lent me; I think I left it in the kitchen! ...Dís?"_

"No, Kíli, I expect he'll soon suddenly find himself unable to walk for at least another day or so," Dís rolled her eyes knowingly.

"But then he'll get better, right?" Fíli asked anxiously.

"Surely. Your uncle is simply feeling under the weather, much as you two have been. He's going to stay home today and _rest_ ," she said pointedly, staring them both down so that they might derive the proper meaning from her statement. "You are to _allow_  him to rest. Understand?"

The boys nodded solemnly, and after giving them a once-over and taking their temperatures, she declared their bed rest officially over, releasing them to breakfast and the outdoors.

They immediately pulled on trousers and boots, and escaped out the back to the garden, stuffing extra scones into pockets, and reveling in the feel of the sun on their skin after having been cooped up for what, to a dwarfling, seemed like _ages_. 

 

* * *

 

 _"...Uncle Thorin. .........Uncle_ Thorin _."_

Thorin opened his eyes to find that the weight on his legs belonged to his littlest nephew, who was holding onto them with his arms and knees as if straddling a log.

 _"Uncle Thorin,"_ he repeated at volume that was likely supposed to be a whisper, but in reality showed little resemblance.

"Kíli?" Thorin croaked. "Why...? What are you doing."

"I'm waitin' for you to wake up," he said, thinking it had been obvious.

"Yes, of course. How unobservant of me." With an effort, Thorin pushed himself up to lean against his pillows, dragging Kíli with him. "Didn't I hear your mother warn you off coming in here?" He asked, though his nephews noted that he didn't seem mad about it. That was always a good sign.

"She just said t' let you rest, an' you've been restin' for a _looong_  time." Kíli said, bouncing a bit for emphasis. "We thought you'd be tired of it by now."

"How was Balin's book?" Fíli asked from the foot of the bed.

"Boring," he grunted, running a hand over his face and beard. "And it hurt my eyes to read it, so I didn't make it very far in."

"Oh," Fíli tried to seem sympathetic. "You should've just told yourself a story like you told us last night. That was a good one." Then he wrinkled his brow in thought. "Even though...now I can't remember how it ended."

Thorin snorted in private amusement. "Yes, well... You were tired."

"Hey, we'll make up the ending for you! It might make you feel better," he said, nudging Kíli's back. "Won't we, Kee?"

"Mmhmm." Kíli rolled off sideways onto the quilt and tucked his little legs up under him, pulling his bear out of a pocket with a messy flourish. "I'll start."

At Kíli's diliberate pause, Thorin realized that he was expected to signal for him to begin and did so with only a slight smirk.

Starting at Thorin's feet, he pranced the bear up and over his uncle's covered toes, along his shins and toward his knees, singing, _"I love honey. Honey is m' bear-gold. I eat honey cause I never wanna catch a cold."_

Thorin wrestled with a laugh and the desire to ask Kíli to stop because the light footfalls on his legs were fast beginning to...not tickle, exactly, but itch. He definitely wasn't ticklish, no matter how many childhood memories Dís cited to the contrary. So he said nothing to Kíli now, letting him have his story. Eventually Kíli had moved the bear along his arm, and up the slope of his chest while Thorin pressed his lips tightly together and Fíli giggled freely, until the bear had reached Thorin's loose hair, which he then began to 'climb.'

" _Ugh. Ugh._  So...tired. These...brown vines...are...kill...in'...me..." Kíli screwed up his face dramatically with imaginary effort. Finally he attained the heights of Thorin's shoulder, and with a last pant said, " _Phew_. I'm home at last," pushing the bear into the dark cave created by the hair and tucking the toy out of sight behind Thorin's neck.

"The End," he said with a proud grin, and Fíli applauded enthusiastically, not caring that Kíli hadn't stopped to give him a turn.

With the performance concluded, Thorin felt it was acceptable to release a deep if somewhat scratchy chuckle, and pulled Kíli into his chest to ruffle his hair.

"That was a better ending than most would've given the violent bear of our story last night. The great beast just wanted to go home, eh?"

"Course," Kíli said, retrieving his bear from Thorin's mane.

"He was bad," Fíli said, crawling up to the head of the bed with them. "But he was a little good too. And he was sick, so he wasn't acting like his usual self."

"Aye. Often even the mildest of creatures can turn fierce when they're in want of something. He _was_  sick; you're right."

Kíli studied Thorin appraisingly. "Do some people get grumpy when they're sick?"

Thorin brow dropped with false sternness. "Why do you ask?"

Kíli just cocked his head to one side and squinted. "No reason."

That reminded Fíli of something that had been on his mind all day, and he shifted around a bit before venturing, "Uncle..." He hesitated, feeling a bit guilty to say it. "Kíli and me got you sick. Didn't we."

Softening his gruff expression, Thorin paused over an explanation, and Fíli's face fell, taking that as answer enough.

"I knew it."

Kíli big eyes widened further at this revelation. He had gotten Uncle sick? When? He didn't even remember doing it. "Didn't mean to," he whispered. "It was an assident."

"An _acc_ ident," Fíli mumbled.

"I know, I just _said_  it was."

Thorin was then quick to reassure them that it had been no one's fault. "Sickness often spreads in a household," he said. "When one person is ill, another is likely to be before long, and so the sickness makes its rounds. Don't blame yourselves." He put a hand on their shoulders. "It's merely a cold. And if I must pay for caring for you by staying in bed for a day or more, then so be it. I would do far more for you."

The brothers felt the truth of Thorin's words, and felt instantly better, their guilt vanishing as if they'd never borne it, replaced with carefree smiles once more.

 _If only we all could be so easily unburdened_ , Thorin thought wryly.

"You always take care of us," Fíli said with conviction.

Kíli nodded his assent, and began digging around in his pocket. "Even when you're grumpy," he added, handing Thorin the crumbly remains of his last scone. "To keep up yer strength," he explained.

"I'm never grumpy," Thorin said, nibbling on the lint-flecked bread to please Kíli, who was watching him like a hawk to ensure that he was actually swallowing.

"Uncle Thorin?" Fíli said thoughtfully.

"Mmph," he grunted around the dry crumbs.

"When me and Kee get old, will it be alright then for us to lie about stuff too?"

Suddenly it seemed the scone couldn't have been more delicious if it had just come out of the oven, the way Thorin crammed the rest of it into his mouth, successfully rendering himself unable to answer until he could come up with a sufficient reply. He closed his eyes as he chewed, feeling another headache coming on. Cleary he should have persevered in Balin's volume on diplomacy for a few pages more after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer to post than I anticipated (haha, story of my life), possibly (definitely) because it kept growing. C'est la vie.
> 
> Also, fun fact, the boys' wooden toys were courtesy of Bofur. ;)


	5. Campfire Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíli pretend to camp in the parlour and Thorin wants the boys to remember where they came from.

"Uncle Thorin, we said _clothespins_. Not _pins_  pins." Fíli's expression blatantly passed judgment on his uncle's incompetence, for though he was making an effort to disguise his impatience, he was failing.

"Ma uses those fer sewin'," Kíli explained gently, complete with a pat to Thorin's knee to help ease the blow.

"I am well aware of the difference," Thorin said dryly, handing over the small tin. "But your mother says all the clothespins are currently in use on the line. Though I don't know how dry her washing's likely to get," glancing out the window at the darkening sky. "These will have to do instead. Don't prick your fingers...or anything else of yours."

"Alright," Fíli said, displeasure forgotten as he began industriously securing one end of a thick blanket across the tops of two low stools in the middle of the parlour floor. "C'mon, Kee. Make yourself useful," he said, borrowing one of his mother's oft' used phrases.

Outside, the wind was busily whipping at the edges of the sturdy house, and at that moment a deep, threatening rumble sent Thorin's teacup trembling ever so slightly in its saucer. Fíli and Kíli looked at each other warily, then up at Thorin, watching from an armchair by the hearth.

"Storm's coming in fast," he said.

"We need to hurry up an' finish the shelter." Kíli hopped from foot to foot, as if he needed to relieve himself.

"That's why I'm tellin' you t' _help_ ," Fíli prodded.

"I _am_  helpin'."

"Just _holdin'_  the pins doesn't count." 

The boys continued to squabble as they haphazardly layered blankets over the stools, yelping occasionally when a particularly close thunderclap would rattle the windowpanes. But despite their quarreling, within a few minutes they were left with a messy but secure fort, upheld by the stools and enclosed all around by blankets and quilts, save for one side which they had left open to the hearth. With a last _we're gettin' soaked!_ from Kíli, they dropped to their hands and knees and scrambled inside.

For the next minute or so, all Thorin could hear were muffled giggles and shushing noises filtering through the thick blankets. Then a blond head poked out the open side.

"Phew," Fíli said. "It's kinda hard t' breathe in there."

"I think we mighta made it too good," Kíli panted, his head appearing next to Fíli's.

Reluctant to reenter the stuffy fort, the boys laid on their stomachs for a while, facing the fire and listening to the wind fling the rain against the windows while Thorin sat beside them in his chair and finished his tea.

The late afternoon light was hidden away by the stormclouds, darkening the room and leaving them with little light other than that of the fire. Fíli and Kíli, far from being frightened by the weather, found the situation to be quite cozy, snug as they were in their makeshift shelter, warmed in the artificial dusk by the light of a cheery fire, with Thorin close by. It felt like an adventure, and yet they were safe at home.

Kíli, who had rolled over onto his back, peered backwards and upside down at Thorin. "Sing a song?" He asked hopefully, flashing his pearly teeth in what he imagined to be a winsome smile.

Thorin had been lost in his own thoughts, and started a bit at Kíli's words. "A song?"

"Yeah, cause we're campin' around the fire."

"Sing the one about the Mountain," said Fíli, and Kíli nodded in agreement.

Thorin coaxed the edges of his mouth to soften, though his instinct was to frown. When he was not directing them there himself, his thoughts, sometimes wistful, often bitter, tended to stray there anyway—to the home of his youth. To a kingdom lost, but not forgotten.

 _Erebor. No, never forgotten. ...Impossible to forget_ , Thorin thought. He had vowed that not only would he never forfeit its memory, but when Fíli and Kíli were born he had sung to them of it, telling them, though they could not yet understand, of a different life left behind, of a legacy that was theirs as sons of Durin. It had been a cradle song, of sorts. A lullaby—yet so much more than that. He had continued singing it to them as they grew a bit older, at bedtimes, or on days like today. It was a song well-suited for darkness, for the cover of night when one might hope for the morning.

And so with a nod to the expectant faces peering up at him, his low baritone rose from deep within his chest to fill the room, and the boys felt the vibrations of his voice within their own chests and a familiar thrill run through them as he began:

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

 

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_

_While hammers fell like ringing bells_

_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_

_In hollow halls beneath the fells..._

 

He sang of how the dwarves of Erebor forged countless and precious objects under the Mountain, golden treasures shaped for ancient kings, and elvish lords. Their skill was unparalled—bejeweled weapons, silver necklaces blooming with flowers of starlight, and delicate wire that gleamed like the light of sun and moon combined. Goblets to be raised in toasting and festivity. Gilded instruments so exquisitely crafted that one might be forgiven for thinking they could play themselves.

As Thorin sang he thought of his own instrument—a hand harp that had made its way in with Dís's things as they had fled Erebor so many years ago. He didn't bring it out much, and rarely took pleasure in playing it when he did. He had begun to think it was meant for the same fate as the rest of the fine instruments that lay gathering dust in the great treasure hoarde of Thror—never to be played, never a song to be sung to its accompaniment.

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

 

_The pines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were moaning in the night._

_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

 

He stopped there.

The remaining verses went on to describe the destruction wrought that day by dragon-fire. But for now he would leave them with the image of a burning forest to contrast with the tame crackle in the hearth, thankful that was the only sort of fire they had known.

"That part always makes me kinda sad," Fíli murmured. "Sad, and...something else."

"What?" Kíli said.

Fíli frowned. "...Not sure."

"Me too," Kíli said, though he hadn't been sad in the first place and really didn't know what Fíli was talking about. "I don't like that dragon."

"Me neither."

Thorin smiled again, somewhat grimly. His nephews understood more than they thought. Even now, lost as they were for the moment in their play, he knew they had heard, and would not forget. And as they grew older still, he would ensure that they continued to mark, and to remember.

It was one song, at least, that would not remain unsung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judging by the continued hits on this series, you folks haven't given up on me, so many thanks! Not as much 'funny' in this chapter, but I want the fluff and heartfelt moments/angst to be well-distributed throughout the story as a whole. ;) 
> 
> Also this is probably the final chap in which the boys are in the 'late toddler/little kid stage.' It's a gentle transition, but I have these ficlets divided up by age range in my head, and Fíli & Kíli are about to grow up a tiny bit in the next few installments. In other words, let the mischief ever increase. ^_^


	6. Dress-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads want to be majestic like Uncle.

"Kíli," Fíli said unsurely as his brother continued pushing the door open. "Maybe we shouldn't be in here."

"Oh, come on, Fee—we've been in here _load_ _s_ of times. 'Sides, he won't be back till supper."

"Hope so," Fíli mumbled as Kíli tripped across the room to the four-poster bed. He flung himself onto it, landing spread-eagle on his stomach, and mumbled something unintelligible into the mattress.

"What was that?" Fíli grinned.

Kíli raised his head with a gasp. "I said, 'his bed is _so_ much bigger than ours.'"

"Well, yeah. He's Uncle _Thorin."_ By this Fíli meant that Thorin was far bigger than them and needed a bed to accommodate his height and build, and he was a king besides and fully deserving of any luxury that might be afforded him, be it large or small. But there was no need to try to express any of it aloud; his little brother nodded right away in understanding.

"Good point." Then he snickered, bouncing a bit on the bed. "Remember when we jumped up here that time and Uncle was still under the covers? His face was so funny..." Kíli imitated the expression of horror and disapproval, promptly toppling onto his side in a sudden fit of giggles at the memory.

Fíli giggled with him, abandoning any final reservations as he joined him with a leap. Unfortunately he hit the mattress just right, or just wrong, so as to send Kíli bouncing off the other side.

He landed on the floor with a _THUD._

"...Kee?" Fíli's blond mane slowly peeked over the mattress's edge to assess the damage.

"M'okay..." Kíli croaked, peering up through his own dark curtain of tangles. His usual undaunted grin was still in place, though it was made slightly hazy by the act of landing on Thorin's spare pair of boots. The steel toes were hard and didn't feel so nice when you knocked your head against them, Kíli noted. No matter. He would do everyone a favor and take care of them.

With a heave he pushed himself upright and began dragging the boots toward the wardrobe at the other end of the room, though he quickly discovered that it was much easier to drag just one. He glanced back at Fíli in exasperation. " _Well_ , you're gonna hafta get the other one."

"What's the idea?" Fíli asked, already dragging the mate, much faster than Kíli.

"Cleanin' up after Uncle. He'll be _glad_ we came in here."

Standing on his tiptoes, Fíli unlatched the wardrobe doors, and they swung open to reveal a collection of belongings that, to Thorin, was probably organized chaos.

"His closet looks like ours," Kíli declared, pleased and proud of the resemblance. Then his eyes grew round as saucers as he spotted what lay in the corner. "Fee, look!" He squeaked.

Propped against one side of the wardrobe was an object that Kíli had only ever seen one or twice before, but was in his mind every inch a thing enchanted—something straight from legend and come to life.

 _"The Oakenshield,"_ Fíli said reverently, his eyes just as wide.

"I wanna hold it."

Fíli's head snapped to Kíli, wary again. Not that the same thought hadn't entered his own mind, but still...

Kíli licked his dry lips. "Just for a minute," he insisted, reaching for it. When Fíli didn't move to stop him, he tried to lift it out, nearly causing an avalanche of items in the process. In the end, they got it out together, Fíli helping to prop it up against Kíli who braced it with his shoulder. He was only an inch or so taller than the shield, but he planted his feet and poked out his chest so as to seem bigger, imagining that he must look almost exactly the same as Thorin looked while holding it.

"How am I?" He puffed, schooling his features. "Like Uncle?"

In reality, the figure Kíli struck was entirely unimpressive—that of a beardless dwarrow struggling to support a warrior's shield. But Fíli didn't see any of that. What he saw was his normally carefree little brother appearing remarkably fierce, more fierce in fact than he had ever seen him.

"Like a _fighter,"_ he nodded approvingly. "You look just right, Kee."

"Great," he said, instantly dropping the facade and breaking into a huge grin. Then his gaze traveled back to the wardrobe, landing on Thorin's greatcoat, the one with the fur collar. "Now _you_ put _that_ on so we'll both look good."

Like the boots and the shield—and seemingly everything that Thorin owned—the coat was heavy. But Fíli managed to get it around his shoulders, the sleeves trailing long past his hands and the hem pooling around him on the floor. He flipped his hair out to rest atop the fur, gold on gray, and clasped his hands through the sleeves behind his back.

Regarding him appraisingly, Kíli felt the slightest twinge of jealousy that was however quickly eclipsed by admiration. For while Fíli did look mostly like a young dwarf in an over-sized coat, there was _something else_ about him that couldn't be denied.

"Well?" Fíli prompted.

Kíli wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and nearly lost his grip on the Oakenshield with the motion. "It's too big for you," he giggled.

Fíli snorted, giving him a light shove...and accidentally upsetting his brother's current delicate balance.

Before Kíli could respond in kind, his eyes went wide at the realization that he was falling, with too much weight attached to do anything about it. With a squawk that was the opposite of fierce, he tumbled backward with the shield atop him, leaving his two short arms and legs sticking out from underneath in an 'X' formation as all that could be seen of him.

"Kee......?"

_"......M'okay."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow posting with these... I have five other works in progress because apparently I hate myself. Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Crowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin takes a nap and his nephews take advantage.

Late afternoon light filtered down through the dense canopy of leaves, leaving a dappled pattern on the thick grass below and on the figure leaning against the trunk of the large tree. It had been a long walk, made longer by the fact that his nephews wanted to pocket every colorful stone and pluck every bloom they came across. But Thorin had indulged them. Of course he had. He could be stern at times, this he knew, but far be it from him to deny the boys such simple pleasures while they were still young and carefree, and could afford it. Besides, it did him some good just to watch them.

When they reached the meadow, he'd casually suggested a break, and flower-strewn as the grass was, Fíli and Kíli had quickly agreed. He hadn't intended to fall asleep. But he'd already warned the boys to keep close, and shaded as the spot was and heavy as his eyelids were becoming, he considered allowing himself to drift off in spite of the mischief his nephews might and—if he was honest with himself—probably _would_ make.

Perhaps no nap, then. Perhaps he would just close his eyes for a bit...

 

* * *

 

"We got so many, Ma's not gonna know what to do with 'em all." Kíli's wide grin showed that he considered this outcome a job well done. "She'll hafta put 'em in pots an' pans an' stuff 'cause she'll run outta vases." Then he was lost in imagining their cookware filled with blossoms as if that's what they would be having for supper. Like the elves. Kíli imagined that all elves ate such pretty, dainty things, and that if it came to it, he really wouldn't mind it either.

"Yeah," Fíli grunted. His leg was getting sore from the constant brushing of the flower basket against his calf as he carried it to one side.

Kíli had long since dropped his side of the handle, but it couldn't be helped. He needed his hands free to hike his trousers up again and yet again, sagging on his hips as they were, thanks to the ever-growing rock collection in his pockets. Not that Fíli wasn't experiencing the same difficulty. It was only that he had remembered to wear his belt that morning, and Kíli hadn't.

"Actually," Fíli continued, "we probably should only take th' best ones to her. Some of these aren't lookin' so good..." A scrutinizing glance confirmed that heat and grubby hands had wilted some of the specimens already.

Kíli wasn't so sure. "Let's see what Uncle thinks," he decided, spotting the blue of Thorin's tunic at the base of a tree.

It wasn't until they were almost upon him and were about to call out that Fíli shushed them, listening. "Snoring," he identified. "He fell asleep."

"He's got leaves in his hair," Kíli giggled into his sleeve.

"Lotsa leaves. And his hair's all messy. Looks like yours, Kee."

If Kíli suspected he should take offense at this, he ignored the suspicion in favor of the pleasure that Fíli thought he and Uncle Thorin resembled each other.

"I could fix it..." Fíli peered at the back of Thorin's head. He was still snoring softly, his chin on his chest. "I'll just redo the braid," he said confidently. "I'll be real gentle so he won't wake up. Then when he finally does, he'll be surprised."

At this plan, Kíli felt the previous moment's pleasure dissipating. Not only would he and Thorin cease to look alike, but he couldn't braid well yet, and so couldn't contribute.

Fíli noticed his expression right off, and guessed at the cause. "Don't worry, Kee. It's only the one braid in back, so we couldn't both do it anyway. Someone has to sort through the flowers, right? Let's just keep the nicest ones for Ma. You'll be really good at that, pickin' 'em out an' all," he encouraged. "She always likes the flowers you bring her."

Kíli brightened almost immediately at his brother's words. He was right. Ma _did_ always like the flowers he brought her. He knew because she always smelled them, then put them in water right away to go on the kitchen windowsill, or on the table by her bed. He also knew that the nicest ones lasted the longest before turning brown, so Fíli was right again. Those were the ones he needed to keep.

Dumping out the basket on the grass, he began two piles—one for the culls and one for the keepers. Despite having nearly a basket full, it didn't take that long to sort through them, and when he had finished Kíli noted that there were a lot more culls than keepers. He carefully bunched the prettiest ones together into a posy for Dís, gently laying it in the now spacious basket before gazing wistfully at the pile of rejects. It seemed a shame to waste them. Maybe he could use them for something else? Deciding not to give up on them just yet, he sat back down cross-legged on the grass and started to twist the stalks of two flowers together in what he used to think was a braid but what Fíli had once assured him was, in fact, not. But no matter. Kíli's own method would suit his current purposes well enough.

By this point Fíli had picked all the leaves from Thorin's mane and removed the disheveled plait. He began to cross three sections of hair over each other in turn, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. The work wasn't as smooth as his mother could have made it, or Thorin himself—Fíli's braids still tended to wobble occasionally as they went—but all-in-all, it wasn't bad. It wasn't bad at all. Digging the cap-bead out of his breast pocket, he fastened it around the end.

"Pretty good..." Fíli muttered in praise of himself.

Kíli came around to inspect, and echoed his brother's admiration. "It's better than b'fore. More interestin'."

Fíli looked at it anew, seeing what Kíli meant. He had given it character, he agreed.

"I've got somethin' else to make it even better," Kíli said excitedly, hands behind his back. With his customary flair for the dramatic, he whipped into view a floral circlet, twisted together from the second-best flowers into what Fíli considered to be a first-rate crown.

"Brilliant, Kee" he breathed. "How'd you do that?"

Kíli positively glowed. "I just _did it,_ " he explained. "Help me reach his head."

Getting down on all fours, Fíli allowed his little brother to climb onto his back while Kíli cautiously placed the flowers on the crown of Thorin's head. Then they both stood back a bit to critique their work.

"He really looks like a king."

"Like an elf king," Kíli mused, his mind returning to woodland sprites and blossom-suppers.

Fíli snorted somewhat nervously. "Don't let _him_ hear you say that."

"Mmhmm..." Kíli answered absently. He was thinking that Thorin should always wear flowers, from now on. They suited him. Kíli could even be in charge of making his crowns for him. He'd have to go to the meadow, every day, and he could pick flowers for his ma while he was there... "Oh!" He remembered, showing Fíli which ones he'd chosen for Dís's bouquet.

"Your mother will love those," said a slightly groggy voice from behind them. Thorin stood and stretched, unconsciously causing the circlet to list a bit to one side. "And it seems you've managed to avoid mischief this afternoon after all. For once I fretted for nothing, thank Mahal."

The boys beamed up at him, seeming to focus on a spot somewhere above his head.

Suddenly suspicious, Thorin glanced behind him, only to turn back to their admiring faces in confusion.

"...What?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for continuing to read RSoD even though I can be an infernally slow poster. We reached over 1,000 hits! *dwarven happy dance??*

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to give kudos if you enjoyed, and drop me a line (or two, or ten) in the comments. FEEDBACK IS FUEL, and I always love hearing from you guys.


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